My Family Was Among Those Vandalized at the St. Louis Jewish Cemetery

Over the holidays I took over the Glamour Snapchat to give readers a peek inside my family home and what I call the Radloff Hanukkah House. As Hanukkah decorations become more available (and commercialized) over the years, my mom turned into Martha Stewart, and our house turned into a legitimate tourist destination. Family, friends, friends of friends—even the St. Louis Post-Dispatch—came over to witness this elaborate but elegant transformation. I'm used to covering the entertainment industry for Glamour, but this holiday season there was something just as fun as treating our house like the hottest thing since This Is Us.

Decorations aside, Judaism means more to me than eight nights of presents or my favorite Manischewitz Passover pancake mix. It means love, compassion, empathy, and tolerance. It means teshuvah, or repentance. It means getting "unstuck" and always working on yourself. And yes, it also means celebrating some very special customs and traditions (my Hanukkah light-up sweater from Target is now one of the latter, FYI).

Simply put, being Jewish is part of who I am. I couldn't be prouder of my heritage. While my maternal and paternal grandparents weren't directly affected by the Holocaust, they came over to the United States from Russia and Poland in the late nineteenth century to escape the anti-Semitism that was prevalent at that time. Half a century later, my cousins' grandparents were victims of the Holocaust. They were inmates in the Nazi concentration camps, and they eventually got out, but the rest of their family was gassed to death, starved, or beaten. Those that made it out alive came to the United States with nothing but hope, love, and a little bit of English. And they thrived. As far as I'm concerned, 6 million members of my family died in the Holocaust. I may not have been related to them all, but they were family. To think that they were killed just because of their religion is why I am so proud to be Jewish today. I'm thankful I can wear a star of David necklace or decorate my office with Hanukkah decorations and not fear for my life. My cousins' grandparents didn't have that basic right.

It's also why I want—or at least hope—to marry someone who is Jewish. I want to raise my kids Jewish. It is for two reasons: (1) to honor those that perished in the Holocaust and (2) because I truly love what Judaism stands for and supports.

I've been lucky. I've never really been faced with anti-Semitism other than what I've seen on the news or in TV shows or movies. I know it's out there, and I've always tried to speak out about it when it happens, but I have been fortunate that I haven't had to witness that kind of hatred firsthand.

Until last month.

I was on my way back to the Glamour Los Angeles office after picking up my Grammy credentials when I saw a truck driving on the freeway with a sign that read "Jews Kill Christians." I know the never-ending grind of awards season can leave me exhausted and delirious, but I thought I must be seeing things. Right? This was Los Angeles. In 2017. A city with the second-biggest Jewish population in the U.S. When I realized I hadn't been transported to hell, I felt my blood boiling to the point that I wanted nothing more than to run this guy off the road. We know people are racist, but to actually drive around with that kind of sign?

In the month prior, a fellow industry colleague of mine walked out to her car to find a swastika carved into the side of her door.

These are the incidents you don't hear about; the ones that aren't "big" enough to make the nightly news.

That was until last Monday's desecration of the oldest Jewish cemetery in St. Louis, Chesed Shel Emeth Cemetery. The cemetery where both sets of my great-grandparents are buried. Where my great-great-grandparents are buried. And where many of my aunts, uncles, and family friends were laid to rest. Of the nearly 200 headstones that were overturned as part of what can only be called a hate crime, one of them belongs to my great-great-grandparents, Jacob and Pauline Schneider. But as far as I'm concerned, all of my family's headstones were turned over that day.

The gravesite of my great grandparents, Sam and Fannie Radloff, in St. Louis, MO. Their headstone was unharmed during the President's Day hate crime, but my other great great grandparents were not.

Since then, while people of every religion volunteered to raise money and help the restoration, it was especially heartwarming to note the lead taken by members of the Muslim community, who raised many tens of thousands of dollars. And although I didn't vote for him, thank goodness one member of the administration—Vice President Mike Pence—denounced anti-Semitism and came to the cemetery to pitch in and help with the cleanup. Donald Trump on the other hand…well, he was busy talking about his electoral college win until he read a prepared statement denouncing anti-Semitism with as much passion as a senior has taking midterms.

Which brings me to this: Do I think that Donald Trump is an anti-Semite? No. But the problem is that both throughout his campaign, and even into his administration, an atmosphere of intolerance has not only been allowed to exist; it's been encouraged. Diversity of opinion is certainly one thing that the Trump administration has not fostered. And not only has freedom of expression been challenged, but so has another pillar of the First Amendment, freedom of the press. In such an environment can any of us be surprised when the third pillar of the First Amendment, freedom of religion, also comes under attack?

While I was on the red carpet at the Elton John Oscar Party over the weekend, I got word that another Jewish cemetery in Philadelphia had been vandalized as well. At that moment I wanted to be in Philadelphia to support my fellow Jews, not on a red carpet trying to get the attention of a celebrity.

And then on Monday a friend's two little kids had to be evacuated from their preschool in Northern California thanks to a bomb threat at the local JCC.

I'm sick. I'm so deeply appalled that it feels like I'm living a nightmare, and most mind-boggling of all, there's Trump again, tweeting about the Oscars.

I don't know what to think anymore. I know we are a country that's mostly good. I know that divided times like the one we are in bring out hatred. I know that we will overcome this. And I know that most people have love for all religions, all minorities, all ethnic backgrounds. But my gosh, it's horrifying. It's horrible to think that there are still people in this world who share this mind-set and won't be dissuaded.

I know some have already drawn comparisons to what is happening now to the early years of Nazi Germany. I know that such comparisons can be dangerous—and hopefully are unfounded. But it is well worth remembering that "the price of freedom is eternal vigilance." This great experiment in democracy, which has now lasted almost 240 years, was built upon both respect for each other and tolerance for the views and lifestyles of our fellow citizens. Everyone in this country, from the President on down would do well to remember that. Simply denouncing evil with platitudes is not enough. We all need to stand up and let everyone know that such evil will not be tolerated by our deeds as well as by our words.

Volunteer to help settle a refugee family. Stand up to bullying whenever you see it. Make it a point to meet someone of a different faith or ethnicity and maybe discover that you have more things in common than differences. Instead of shouting down someone on the other side of an issue, try to understand their point of view and maybe, by doing so, engage in a constructive dialogue, which might narrow the gap a little.

And to my fellow Jews, my family, my friends, and those of all religious backgrounds I've never met, I will always stand with you, stand up for you, and continue to fight. Hatred has no place here.